


what truly matters

by onceuponamoon



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, john tavares has a human emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: John’s not looking forward to the hits with his name on them the first time the Leafs play the Isles.





	what truly matters

**Author's Note:**

> alternately titled: five goodbyes and one "see ya later" because i'm cheesy af.
> 
> lmfao y'all i've cycled through the stages of grief like fifty times since the news broke that john signed with toronto. this is just a little therapeutic self-indulgent thing so that i can maybe move to the whole "acceptance" stage at some point.
> 
> **NOTE:** this includes mentions of WAGS who are part of the polyamorous relationship. if that's not your thing, then please don't read this and don't @ me. 
> 
> feel free to shoot me some feels on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com) <3

**[1]**

The first “ _fuck you_ ” text he gets is from Cal Clutterbuck. John’s not surprised, especially not when the, “ _you’re the fucking reason I signed a five year deal, dipshit!!!!_ ” is quick to follow. It’s exactly why he’d chosen to tell Cal first.

John’s not looking forward to the hits with his name on them the first time the Leafs play the Isles.

John hits call and Cal’s quick to answer. He doesn’t say hello, doesn’t curse John out the way he’s expecting, just sighs deeply and then emphatically says, “Fuck, _man_.”

Though he’s grinning a bit, maybe with a tinge of hysteria, John has tears in his eyes when he says, “I know. Sorry to bother you while you’re at dinner.”

“ _I’m not pulling my punches, just so we’re clear,_ ” Cal says.

“Wouldn’t expect you to, bud.”

Again, Cal says, “ _Fuck,_ ” and they both ignore the fact that they’re crying a little while they talk about how it’s a dream to go back home, how nice it is to be able for John to put down some roots for good, to get married and maybe start a family, to finish out his career with the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. John dutifully asks after Cassie, after the kids, after Cal’s knee and hip and wrist and his off-season training.

There’s a lull where John can hear all the things they’re avoiding.

And then Cal goes for it. He asks, “ _You talked to Ebs yet?_ ”

John swallows thickly, answers, “No. Not yet,” and tries not to interpret the responding disapproving hum.

They hang up and…

John shouldn’t be surprised at the throb of grief right in the center of his chest.

_One down_ , he thinks.

**[2]**

Ladder is a bit easier, a lot more easy-going in general and understanding about the decision. He cracks a joke about seeing John across the face-off circle and John can barely get out his goodbyes before he’s crying again.

Aryne frowns, rubs at his shoulders, and says, “I’ll make you some tea.” She kisses his temple.

She doesn’t ask who’s next, how he’s feeling, how many more to go. He’s grateful for that.

**[3]**

Anders is next.

Making the rounds this way is a stipulation he’d given to signing on with Toronto. As much as he could, he’d wanted this part to be on his own terms. He didn’t want the guys, the A’s, his core group of leaders to hear the news from the press like they’re just anyone else. He feels bad enough that it’s gotten in the way of his official statement about leaving the Islanders, but. He had to be sure. Had to say his goodbyes.

“ _I’m a free agent next season, too, man,_ ” Anders points out. “ _Who knows if Trotz and Lou’ll even want to keep me around._ ”

John makes an affronted noise, says, “You were one of our top producers last season, dude.”

Anders’s shrug is nearly audible. “ _Doesn’t mean they can’t get a bigger name who produces more to take my place for the same amount of money._ ”

Something about the statement stings, but John can’t find it in himself to dissect it. “I’m sorry,” is all he says, feeling like a broken record player.

“ _Sometimes you’ve just gotta do you, Johnny. I get it._ ”

John paces after they hang up, sick to his stomach even after the tea Aryne had tracked him down in his office to bring to him. As much as he loves her, he doesn’t think he can stand another sympathetic expression trained his way.

**[4]**

After Anders is Bails and after Bails is Nick, then Hicks, then Johnny, then Casey, then Brock.

Greisser’s not exactly the first person John would’ve expected to decline his call, but John also knows how weird he is about talking to the competition, which...is a category John falls into now. He shoots him a text, one that thanks him for being a rock for the team even with all the Jaro drama and the shitty way they’ve played the last couple of years. 

He’s not expecting a text in return.

He knows better, at this point.

**[5]**

The rookies --

They’re a little quiet over the phone but both Mat and Tito send John text messages afterwards that could probably be published as full-length novels.

**[+1]**

It’s just past midnight when John’s phone rings and --

“Hey,” he says softly.

“ _You know,_ ” Jordan says, low and easy over the line, “ _If you wanted to break up, all you had to do was say so._ ”

John’s throat constricts so fast that he has no choice but to let out a choked-off sob, tilting his head back to blink at the ceiling. Aryne’s gone to bed and this is -- Ebs’s voice is one he’s wanted to hear all day, too. Calm, teasing support sprinkled in with healthy doses of sarcasm. It would’ve been nice, but.

Jordan and Lauren are in Alberta, anyway. 

“I --”

“ _God, I bet you’ve been emo all day,_ ” Jordan teases. His voice is rough, sleepy even though it’s only ten PM there. “ _Why didn’t you just call me, babe?_ ”

“Because --” John gets out, half-broken from the sheer force of trying not to cry. “You’re the only person I really don’t want to say goodbye to.”

Jordan hums, assessing. “ _Who’d you end up going with?_ ”

John lets out a shaky breath, scrubs at his eyes, says, “Toronto,” and hates himself for a second. Throughout the negotiations, the talks, John had been confident in his ability to set aside his emotions and go about things pragmatically. It was about money, about longevity, about where he could see the best chances of actually making the playoffs successfully. Only today had he started to consider the other factors: the fact that Toronto was home, that he could be back in Canada, that he could play for his childhood dream.

It felt selfish, even as he made up his mind.

“ _Hey,_ ” Jordan says, “ _At least it’s Canada, eh?_ ”

A laugh, semi-hysterical bursts out of John’s chest and he’s -- half-sobbing, half-laughing, fully wishing that Jordan was here so that he could fucking cling. Through his laughter, John says, “You got that right.”

They might not have clicked on a line together with the Isles, but they’d clicked just fine off the ice. Probably not in the way management had been expecting. But...Jordan just -- he had this air about him, like he didn’t quite care what anyone thought, like he was just there to have a good time and play some goddamn _beautiful_ hockey.

John had fallen pretty hard, pretty fast.

Getting Aryne and Lauren in on the deal hadn’t taken hardly any effort and that -- _that’s_ what makes this feel like the worst thing John’s ever done. Uprooting his -- his family, unconventional as it may be, separating them, taking his fiance to Toronto, leaving Jordan and his wife here? It’s selfish. Maybe even worse than stringing along the Islanders fans.

What he’d said had been true, though. He’d wanted to finish out his career as an Islander. He wanted to stay on the island, wanted to bring the Cup back, wanted to -- to _win_. He -- he wanted to stay with Jordan.

“ _Alright, come back, bud,_ ” Jordan’s saying. “ _I’m right here._ ”

“Oh,” John says, swiping at his cheeks.

“ _Hey, there you are,_ ” Jordan says softly. He doesn’t ask where John went, doesn’t ask if he’s okay. “ _You don’t -- you don’t actually wanna break up, right?_ ”

“ _No!_ I -- god.” John chokes on another sob.

“ _Then why are you so sad?_ ” Jordan asks. His voice is still so soft, but not cautious. “ _Like, yeah, we won’t get to spend as much time together, but. That’s what Skype is for. Skype and sexting. Lots and lots of sexting._ ”

John laughs, wetly, and heaves in another shaky breath. He lets it out, lets the thought settle before he finally admits, “I don’t want to leave you.”

Jordan says, “ _Babe,_ ” so softly that John thinks he might start sobbing again. “ _It’ll be okay. We’ll just -- take it one day at a time, yeah?_ ”

John nods, unthinking, and then realizes he needs to verbalize his, “Yeah.” His throat clicks when he swallows.

“ _You have your schedule right?_ ”

“Yeah,” John says.

“ _So, pull it up, let’s figure out when we can see each other,_ ” Jordan says easily. “ _It’s only an hour and a half in the air, so it’s not like we can’t come up for days off if they match up._ ”

“I --” John swallows, clears his throat. “Yeah. Okay.”

It’s -- nice to hear Jordan’s voice, his calm, even tone as he works out which dates will work and which ones should be used for resting. Luckily, they can still meet up for their bye-week and -- they still have this summer. They keep chatting, catching up well into the night, long past a normal bedtime for John and nearing the point where Jordan’s non-verbal with exhaustion. 

Still, John doesn’t want to hang up.

“ _Hey,_ ” Jordan says quietly over the line, “ _You know I’m not mad at you, right? Not for this._ ”

Tears prick at the corners of John’s eyes for the millionth time in a handful of hours. He sighs, says, “Yeah, I know,” through the congestion and the tightness of his throat. 

“ _And you know I love you, right?_ ”

“Ah, _fuck you_ , Ebs,” John says, pinching at his eyes as if that’ll do anything to stem the flow of tears. “I love you, too.”

“ _Then you should also know that I’m going to support you in whatever you choose, alright? Even if you quit hockey completely to become, I dunno, a podcast host or some shit,_ ” he says, “ _I’ll still love you. And support you. And give you shit._ ”

John laughs, and he’s so, so grateful. “‘S what you do best.”

“ _Damn right it is,_ ” Jordan says, sounding a little watery too. “ _Now, go get some sleep, babe. You’ve got a big day tomorrow and -- please, call me if it’s too much, okay? People are gonna say some nasty shit, but -- just call me._ ”

“I will,” John says softly. And then, “Love you.”

“ _Love you, too, babe. Goodnight._ ”

It’s --

It’s not a goodbye. Not between John and Jordan, at least. It’s a lot of grief and loss and hurt, but comfort and steadiness, too. John’s going to have to learn how to incorporate himself into a new locker room, how to center different wings, how to navigate a long-distance relationship, but he’s -- he has the support of the people he loves, and...that’s what truly matters.


End file.
